If we wish for sustainable communities capable of defining and pursuing their own values, we must be must develop the same concern for the health and prosperity of community art, that the ancient societies developed through rituals to enhance the fertility of their women.

Sobriety & Reparation

Do Black Lives Matter? Should we stand with those who are protesting for their rights at Standing Rock?

If members of a family are not engaged in value-creating dialogue, the family will be dispersed. Likewise, a community must be continually engaged in the art of re-creating itself.

Again, Tariko and I are having a professional discussion on this issue. Just as individual sobriety is only secured as the effort is made to offer reparation for damages that were inflicted when reason was not in control, an equal case could be made, that societies which have abused other races or religions have even more need to make reparations than the victims have to receive them.

Eventually, of course, if we fail to reinforce our consciousness of the harm that addictive behaviors inflicted by making amends to those who were hurt by the behaviors, sobriety will not be maintained and our capacities to cause harm shall be limited by the other consequences of the addiction.

To see how this applies on a political spectrum, we have only to look at the nations of Southeastern Europe. If the former Ottoman rulers had been willing to make social and economic reparations to compensate for the abuses inflicted by nobles and clerics, their empire would probably have been democratized, rather than dissolved. But the time has passed when this is a matter of serious concern for these formerly oppressed nations. These nations have now joined the European Commonwealth, and their political and economic interests are practically independent of the powers and principalities that are dominating the Middle East.

Imperialism is a serious disease; when it can no longer vampirize others it will proceed to devour the body of its host. This is why, when we look at the Middle East today, what we see is not the Classical Islam but rather, a degenerate body of rationalizations that began with those twistings of the wicker that allowed the Ottoman economy to be based on slave-trading and oppression. These twistings of the wicker still distort the cultural life of Islamic nations today, in a way that grossly inhibits the efforts of their more progressive factions to develop competitive economies.35

When we look at the political and social train-wreck that the Middle East of today has become, we recognize the answer to the question of whether the entitled classes should endeavor to make intellectual and economic reparations to those cultures and ethnicities who were enslaved or displaced by imperialism while their fathers and grandfathers were making America great.

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Revolution & the Wicked Women

Nov 23, 2015

“The Great Western Republic has been betrayed!” screeches Renata1. “So many of my patients are suffering from the physical and mental effects of impoverished life styles; everyone is at their wits’ end – and all that the System can do is give us another war.”

“It is time to demand an accounting,” Thieu rises to assert. “We have had one genocide after another. The people are lacking resources, while those who are profiting from DOD contracts have enough money to buy the law and most of the women too. There is a serious disorder in the immune system of any society which allows things to deteriorate to this point.”

Time to Examine the Spreadsheets

It seems, each time that we have reason to believe that we are making progress, the Crude Oil Brothers shall find some way to throw everything into disorder. This time, it seems, they simply abandoned the weapons the American public went broke trying to pay for, somewhere out in the desert where they could be stolen. The problem is, this time the Gentlemen From The Other Side who stole them were members of a criminal cartel who, instead of pirating the regalia of Freemasonry like the Mexican cartels do, want to emblazon themselves as a Caliphate and tell us all what to believe.

“Of course,” insists Renata, “They shall go to great lengths to disguise the fact that Hoggog and Bingbum are working together, and are aided and abetted by Coggog!”“That is why,” intrudes Su Dae2, “the blasphemous apparitions of Daesh are not being crushed out simply through the use of drones and bombs and guided missiles. We must recognize that this is the present manifestation of the suicidal pole of the collective consciousness. The problem, of course, is that this collective consciousness is presently drifting in a twilight sleep, and suffering from so much pain that it sometimes seems that absolute non-existence would be better. And so, when these suicidal dreams coalesce to form a political organization that succeeds in becoming an aggressive economic cartel, we have a very serious social disease, which must be addressed through treating the mental health of the social collectivity.”

The Junction of Petticoat & Revolution

Su Dae smiles so sweetly, a smile that is so difficult to resist, even though I know that she is already plotting on how she can convince me, that once again, it is the destiny of my hindenbergs to quiver under her horsewhip, so that my lower extremities may experience the fundamental atonement my hurting ways deserve.

She is dressed in a black silk lounging robe which has parted, so that I can see way up her thigh. Of course I know that if I choose to play, she shall have the excuse that she needs to take down my pants and torment me.

“Economic analysis is an important tool, but it is not sufficient,” Renata proceeds to insist, as she motions for me to stop flirting with Su Dae. “For instance, socio-economic factors may have convinced this man that it is his destiny to get his arse whipped, but I do find it charming that he has chosen us to do the whipping.

“There is something within him that gets more excited when he is playing a game in which he knows that he may get hurt. I know well enough, the Devil taught me and I taught him, and we are both learning to laugh at a world that thinks it can control us by making us so miserable that we are crying and screaming.

“Hoggog, the God of the bourgeois market, is the God of the economic sphere, but he no longer has total control of those of us who are able to laugh at our own pain. During those years of abuse, when I was being controlled by Dr. Payne’s sorceries, I began to recognize the ways in which those of us who have earned the right to transcendence still get bamboozled by the tricksters who know how to activate our latent idolatries. In any consensual rough sex, two people are crying together, but during those years when I had to lie down for Dr. Payne’s black masses – those were the years when I had to learn how to cry all alone.

“Nevertheless, I have learned from my spiritual struggle. I am no longer innocent, but I have begun to understand the difference, between playing with our fear of pain, and submitting to the dictatorship of a spiritual torturer who categorically goes about shaming all of one’s natural feelings. If I, who know my enemy too well, am willing to suffer for my jihad, and even willing to make a man prove how much he loves me by sharing in that suffering – then it is all the more important that I choose my own path, not out of fear of a Bingbum who negates me, but secure in my knowledge, that my own respect for the beatings I’ve already suffered shall provide the Creative Power with a sufficient handle to guide me.”

To Crucify the Old Machista

“Inwardly and outwardly,” Renata proceeds, “we are at war with The Crude Oil Brothers. It makes no difference that in another time they shall call themselves something else. We may call them the spiritual descendants of the Umayyads, but it is a mistake to imagine that they are all of one race, one religion, or one culture. There are groups of diverse origins but all of them, like the different gangs in a ‘hood,’ develop what is more or less a common code of brutality and deceptively elegant ruthlessness. The only thing they really have in common is Crude Oil, because Crude Oil is the ultimate trophy of the age.

“What they also all have in common, is that they are addicted by the sort of machista which needs to conscript people as their trophies. Therefore, if we are the reclaim a population that has been enslaved by a Crude Oil cartel like Daesh, we must begin by teaching all of the most desirable trophies all over the world how to bite. And we must teach the machista in the man, that if he wants to be loved the way that we women love Jesus, then he must demonstrate the patience of Jesus whenever we women decide that it is time to hold him down and flog his hindenbergs.

“It shall be only as houris who change into furies refine the Old Machista by insisting these Old Machos accept that it is justified revolutionary violence when we go off on them, that we shall find ourselves liberated from the curse of men who have signed contracts with Satan, but are still willing to use our religious sensitivities in order to dominate us. This is what we must do to heal ourselves of the weakness that has caused us to enable men who are on their way to the same Hell as Stalin and Hitler.”

1Dr. Renata Tres Cruces may be likened to a Gretchen who refused to commit suicide, and has therefore survived to see her Dr. Faust get carried off at the end of an expired 42 year contract.

2Su Dae may be likened to the little Korean Orphan Girl who would have so gladly eaten the spinach you as a young chikd refused to touch. She now is grown up, with an attitude.

1Dr. Renata Tres Cruces may be likened to a Gretchen who refused to commit suicide, and has therefore survived to see her Dr. Faust get carried off at the end of an expired 42 year contract.

2Su Dae may be likened to the little Korean Orphan Girl who would have so gladly eaten the spinach you as a young chikd refused to touch. She now is grown up, with an attitude.

They called it “Trinity.” Unfortunately, it could not bring salvation, but only holy terror.
Indeed, this Day of the Rape of the Atom was heralding the morning of an Age of Terror. Even now, in spite of international agreements to stop the proliferation of nuclear weapons, the terror has not subsided.
It is a form of terror which is not entirely external. We fear because we now understand that the world – or at least, the world of checks and balances that is habitable for humanity – could easily be destroyed. But we also fear because we are now learning, that reality itself is something other than what we always believed it to be.
We look down from the mountains, and the ghosts who were given voices on the Day of Trinity look down on us. The questions they are asking concern genocide.
We now know that we don’t understand reality. All of our lives, we have been consumed with trying to find out what lies under the veils of seeming.
We dance, but it is only when the dance is inspired by love, that we can find satisfaction.

SVA Creates Space-Time

There is, as we are beginning to learn, a dance which gives a meaning to Space-Time.

Our weariness sought to retreat.

We wanted to retreat to the sidelines, to question the meaning of essence.

But the bush was burning,

And the fire on Trinity Mountain

Now threatened to consume the whole world.

Then life became seeming game of chance

No time for contemplation any more;

Some found that they were brought joined in love

Some found themselves slain through acts of violence

But everyone who lived then

Has now become history.

What is the dance that shapes space-time?

What is the mystery, beyond our analytical methods?

What is this Essence which drives us, yet remains unknowable,

Which we perceive, however dimly,

When our hearts resonate with love?

In dance, I have become the Hanged Man,

Reborn out of myself

As the Angel of Transformation

Proceeded to pour the wine

From one glass to another,

Till the alcohol within the grape became radio-active.

The Moon now sheds her light

Over a chronic and incurable emptiness.

Striving for Enlightenment, I encountered the Devil,

Now realizing that this shadow had been cast by the light.

Nevertheless, society

Seems to be filled with shadows

Which have somehow lost the capacity

To purify themselves.

The Day that the Atom Got Raped

July 16, 1945

A couple of atomic scientists were hanging out in the Last Chance Saloon in Roswell

It was an unusual day. Just about dawn on that morning, The Apparition had appeared on the horizon.

On the horizon west southwest, a glow had made it seem the sun was rising in the West.

One more Sign in the Sky. Contrary to popular belief, “signs in the sky” have been rather common all through history. But this one would stand out, because the significance of this sign was “The End of Innocence.”

These scientists, I am sure, were aware of that the Manhattan Project was being used as a marker in the “Great Game.” Now that The War was almost over, they would watch as everyone got regimented into the places they needed to occupy to do their part for the Team, so that the Great Game would be able to resume again. But from now on, the Game would never be the same, because a terrible genie, capable of rendering the whole earth unfit for human habitation, had just been liberated.

This malevolent genie, who had come to be called the Fat Man, might not have been liberated so soon, had there not appeared a portent on earth so baleful, that it was causing people all over the world to lose faith, not only in God, but also in the goodness of mankind.

The Fat Man & the Little Corporal

In Germany, and in the nations conquered by Germany, everyone of Jewish heritage had been rounded up and railroaded to the death camps. This had spurred at least one former pacifist, a Jewish refugee named Albert Einstein, to join Project Manhattan and contribute the resources of his genius. Intellectuals all over the world had become so appalled, they had not only banded together, but had begun to recognize themselves and each other as a significant cultural force. In one sense, Project Manhattan represented the avant-garde of this cultural force.

Ironically, the prime objective, which had been to take out the Little Corporal and the Circus of Cruelty he had produced behind the walls of Fortress Europe, now had been accomplished. The United Nations had accepted the German surrender on May 8 of 1945, and the formal administration of the various zones of occupation had begun. The victorious Allies now transformed the Death-Camps into Trauma Recovery Centers, under the supervision of the UN and the International Red Cross.

Perhaps the timing was significant. For ten years, under the thin disguise of a Christian crusader, the War-God had become the Master of Ceremonies who had made, not only Germany but all of Europe, dance to his martial rhythms. Indeed it seems almost, that the War-God himself had come to bless the victor in the War of the Atlantic, with a Satanic gift that the people would not be able to refuse.

It was the height of a skeptical age. In spite of the defeat of a German nation which had served him so well, the War-God was still in the saddle, and the Devil was doing even better.

The portent which would cause men’s limbs to tremble had been unleashed that morning. It was a luminous mushroom cloud, whose beauty would scorch the eyes of anyone who tried to look at it.

The power was now in human hands, which could devote the planet to a collective suicide.

Just last night, there was blood spilled in a holy place. This time, not a mosque in Iraq or Syria, but in a historic Black church in South Carolina.

Of course, from an Islamic perspective, there is no better time to die than when one is immersed in prayer, and in the study of one’s chosen Holy Book.61 Indeed, my intellect tells me that something like this had to happen, in order to awaken the Atlantaen conscience. Nevertheless, my heart cries tears of blood.

It seems, that the lessons of the 20th Century have taught the Vespucci that they must sting, if their caste is to maintain its privilege. Of course, they have stung many times before, but this time, the outrage went viral on the internet.

The explanation for this act of terrorism involves four flags, which each have lost their struggle, and yet which still continue to be cherished by those who cling to the lost cause of White supremacy.

My intellect tells me that something like this had to happen, in order to waken the technicians of the Great Western Republic, to the reality that the greatest threat to their republic does not come from militant Islam. Neither does it come from North Korean colleges where Chinese instructors grade their pupils on how well they can hack into sensitive databases on the other side of the world. These are conditions worthy of vigilance, but there are mechanisms in place to minimize the degree to which either of these can damage the legitimate interests of the Republic.

The real danger to the Republic comes from the fallen flags of privileged castes who have been chastised, but who still refuse to repent, and instead respond to the moral imperative by resorting to treachery.

1. One of these fallen flags is the Confederate flag. This became the symbol of a social elite which hoisted the ensign of rebellion rather than relinquish the right to own other humans as slaves. This elite traces its bloodline to Franco-Norman sires. If they had won, it’s likely that the Mexicans would still be pledging allegiance to France.

2. The second flag is the Nazi flag, which was the flag of Germany, but also became – at least for a short while – the flag of the Merovingian elitists in France. The Original Godfather of these Merovingians was Louis Napoleon. The Great Dictator, the Little Austrian Corporal with the mustache, may be regarded as a defective copy of the Luciferian original.

Louis Napoleon had everything handed to him, but lost it all because he became too cynical in his way of using and abusing his famous uncle’s Asian relations. Incidentally, despite the “Hidden Hand” which signified that Napoleon was a secret Siyyid, his nephew’s Merovingian ministers were just as proud of their Visigoth heritage, as Hitler’s underlings were of their “Teutonic anscestry.”

Pride goeth before the fall, and it’s pride in one’s own ethnic supremacy that falls the hardest. But what really lost the steeplechase for Louis Napoleon, was that he and the other elitists became careless of the principle that is called noblesse oblige.

Noblesse oblige, quite simply, derives from Plato’s principle of the “Noble Lie.” It is a lie to assert that some are more noble than others, but it is conducive to progress when there is a higher status to strive for. It is also conducive to social stability when the privileged prove their honor by sacrificing what they have hoarded to aid the poor in times of social crisis. Victor Hugo aroused the little monster’s ire by exposing just how badly the privileged elite was neglecting its obligation of noblesse oblige. And incidently, the number of homeless people on the streets of the Great Western Republic today shows just how much attention the people navigating the Vespucci ship of state are paying to this ancient and honored principle.

Louis Napoleon flunked his final examination, and the ship he had commanded went down to the Underworld. Unfortunately it is still down there, in the form of various Corsican Orders and their associated mafias. Nevertheless, the Little Austrian Corporal who raised the Nazi banner was able to take a bad script and made it even worse. His regime made it explicit, that being a Person of Privilege provides an excuse to abuse. Even though this philosophy now keeps his disciples down there in the lowest orders of mercenary enforcers, the ghost of Adolf Hitler himself still remains undead within the social underworld.

3. The third fallen flag is the flag of a place called Rhodesia. Rhodesia doesn’t exist anymore, because it was a scaffold of White Supremacy erected on the backs of the tormented Blacks. The Commonwealth spat them out in embarrassment, the Black Majority took over, and the principle of government through caste stratification and brutality lost one more round of the game.

That country is now called Zimbabwe; Cecil Rhodes, who envisioned himself as the national founder, now has been diminished. There will be a museum dedicated to him, which shall display the leg irons, whips, and cattle prods that were used to keep the Natives in their place, for the duration of the regime that Cecil Rhodes founded.

Of course, Mr. Rhodes was not just a common Imperialist. His name still is associated with one of the English-speaking world’s most coveted scholarship grants. And so we should suspect, that somewhere in the sacred groves of scholarship, there may be lurking a few snakes from the Rhodesian tree.

4. The fourth fallen flag which threatens such ill omen for The Republic, is the old flag of South Africa, which now symbolizes the period when it was an Apartheid State. As Heinrich Zimmer warned us, a Dragon does not die a peaceful death, but only can be slain when he is confronted by his “Missing Opposite.”

There was at the time, a Security Force in South Africa whose ideological captains did not want to see Apartheid die. Apartheid, after all, is a system of class privilege, as well as a way of extracting mineral resources with minimum outlay. And so, before the White South African regime surrendered to Mandela and his Anglican Bishops, its security service secreted a little Red Scorpion, and sent it out to work covert mischief.

The code-name of this little Red Scorpion was Operation Babushka, and it had been sent out “to punish the enemies of Apartheid, all over the world.” Can we be right in wondering if it was only a coincidence, that at the same time that this little red scorpion was inflicting its sting, those same churches that had once been protesting for peace and civil rights turned from the liberal way and became locked into a neo-conservative dogma?

As last night’s tragedy demonstrates, these four fallen flags represent four undead monsters. If we listen to those who were closest to the victims, they shall admonish us that there is no greater threat to the Great Western Republic.

16 Note: the narrator is a Bosnian refugee with a post-traumatic anxiety concerning civil wars.

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Those Restless Niñitos

If I Should Die Before I Wake

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep;

If I should die before I wake

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

What happens to the soul, when a sleeping child is blasted away by a bomb and never wakes up? And what happens to the children who do survive, but whose hearts shall be forever scarred by memories so horrid that they need to take a pill in order to get any sleep?

Growing Up with Atrocity

We can be sure that those restless Niñitos shall prod us in the conscience with hot needles. The men are all fighting for causes the children cannot understand. There is a scandal every day, and by no means was every atrocity committed by the Gentlemen From The Other Side.

Now I lay me down to sleep

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

If I should die before I wake ….

So long as we allow our vision to be hypnotized by that long train of leaders, each pointing the finger at one or two others, we shall be able to ignore the fact that we are in a zoo, and the animals are not properly caged. If we listen to the niñitos, we shall be able to look down on this sick game from a higher perspective. We see then a circus of lions and tigers, wolves, and trained bears, moving political levers which result in disastrous encounters on the international scene.

It seems it is only the children who really want peace in the world. What are we to say to little girls in Third World countries? Mr. Pope, Mr. President, Mr. Chairman of the IMF, what can you say to the little girl who is praying that if a bomb falls on her house before she wakes up in the morning, the Angels will carry her off to paradise?

The Voice that Should Bother

Now I lay me down to sleep

Artillery shells are falling

And I hear the sirens of a jeep

What can we do for this poor girl? To begin with, we could allow her to become the Voice that bothers the President. Because she has said so many desperate prayers, this girl will grow up with a conscience. It shall be a dissident conscience, because all those prayers will have gotten her in touch with those same angels whom the warlords of this world wish to exorcise.

How many pieces of silver were the leaders paid when they sold out?

What can we do for this poor girl? Well, to begin with, we can set up shrines which shall become sanctuaries for the Dissident Conscience. Because she has said so many prayers, this little girl is going to grow up with a relation to the Wise Lord who commands all of the Amesha Spentas. She shall have a particular relation to She whom Zardosht named “Aramaiti,” but whose name may be translated as “Conscience.”

If she survives in this world, her prayers shall have gotten her in touch with Intelligences of the Wise Lord’s realm, who have counted the pieces of silver which disappeared from the Temple treasury, each time some great religious leader has sold out to the Other Side.

There may be nothing we can do for this little girl today, because she is a hostage, and careless intervention might just make the situation worse. But we can begin to create a path, so that if she survives she shall be enabled to present her testimony to the Assembled Nations of The World

.

Do We Want Grandma to Smile?

This little girl must speak, but we may be sure that all of the Wolves & Wolverines of the various Orthodoxies will insist on keeping her quiet, because they all have their secrets where the rights of children are concerned.

What shall the Wise Lord have to say, concerning the eternal fate of those who have battened and fattened on the interests of loans which paid for the killing of these niñitos who stand just on the other side of the veil? Their minds are still childish, but the wrongs the world has inflicted on them have transformed them into afreet, powerful souls who strike terror in the hearts of men and djinn alike.

The little girl must speak, because it is only after we have begun to focus on the right of small children to grow up with freedom and dignity, that we shall be forgiven by all of the ghosts of all of the children whom our jihads and crusades have killed.

I pray for the Angels my soul to keep;

If I should die before I wake

I Pray To The Lady of Heaven

My soul to take

It’s only when we create sanctuary for the Dissident Conscience, that Grandmother shall smile upon us. There is plenty for everyone to atone for, on account of the violence which the leaders of the Race of Cain have inflicted on the hunter-gatherers. You cannot bring back those who were killed at Wounded Knee, but you can atone by allowing this land that we share to provide sanctuary for people who are different than you are.

And don’t let them clear-channel religion. Yes, God speaks to our souls, but every soul responds to a different wavelength. That’s why organized religion will never be so important as that Shrine to the Dissident Conscience which shines as a holy chapel within the Wilderness. It’s the ones who never quite become good True-Believers who try to keep the machines from eating the people.

A couple of years ago, in Gaza, a bulldozer went on a rampage and devoured a girl. Now, everywhere, the machines are on a rampage. No one wants to talk about it, but those who are back from Iraq have seen that the machines are out of control and on the loose, and that they are devouring whole villages.

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Writing in the Sky

In the kivas in the desert, as in the deep jungles far to the South, the elders shake their heads. They see the writing that’s inscribed in trails that are left by jet planes that are larger than a 40 paddle canoe. They see from the morals of the people, as well as from the policies of the public administrators in high office, that the time of the Stick Men has come once again. Once more, their hearts and their brains have turned to wood that is incapable of feeling. Once more, they have forgotten everything that the Creator told them.